


your skin makes me cry

by orphan_account



Series: venting thru awsten [2]
Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drugs, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Trauma, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: he was only six.





	your skin makes me cry

**Author's Note:**

> check tags for triggers please.

Awsten woke up screaming. 

 

His skin was aflame, he could feel  **his** hands running up his thighs and smothering his neck with bruises to get the younger boy silent. The pastel-haired boy broke again, feeling the small amounts of recovery, the small amount of healing that had took place dissipate within seconds of waking from the nightmare. 

 

The boy rubbed desperately at tearful eyes, begging himself to “Stop fucking crying, stop it, stop it STOP IT!” and he screamed into his pillow, body racked and with weakened quiet sobs. 

 

He thrashed because  **his** filthy dirty hands were on him and they were roaming and touching and hurting and Awsten was falling to pieces because he was only a fucking kid he didn’t want it he didn’t want it, he said no, he’d screamed no. But it was useless because  **he’d** smashed his head against the floorboards and gripped the child’s wrists until he was frozen and catatonic as he was made to do things no child should ever have to do. 

 

Awsten could still feel the alcohol forced down his throat by the evil man’s rough drunken straying hands, he could feel the flickers of ash from the cigarette flaking and burning his small legs. He couldn’t scream or beg or do anything to stop  **him** . 

 

He was only six when it had happened. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want it. He knew he shouldn’t have worn shorts. He reached desperately in the dark for his sensory stuffie, feeling the cool soft material under his hands as he tried to get out the flashback.

 

And Awsten cried again. He cried for everything  **he** had taken from him. 

 

And he fell into the flashbacks over and over again, and couldn’t scream his way out of it this time.

**Author's Note:**

> <3 <3 <3 <3


End file.
